


just like an oven (I need some lovin')

by sophinisba



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blankets, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Moving In Together, POV Sam Wilson, Sharing a Bed, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: Sam and Steve get used to sharing space and heat.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78
Collections: SamSteve Small Gifts





	just like an oven (I need some lovin')

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oh_no_oh_dear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/gifts).



> Happy New Year, oh_no_oh_dear! This is for your prompt of SamSteve + someone being a blanket hog at night. <3
> 
> The title and a line in the story come from Marvin Gaye's song "Sexual Healing".

The dude's hot. 

No two ways about it. Sam's no slouch and he hasn't doubted his physical prowess since basic but okay, there's always gonna be someone who's stronger (even if he hasn't met anyone more jacked than him in years), someone who's faster (though it's not like that someone _had_ to pick Sam's loop), someone who makes it look easy. 

Steve Rogers is barely winded when they finally stop to talk, but okay, at least he's sweating, it takes him _some_ effort. It's June in DC and yeah they're both dripping, both hot to the touch when they shake hands. They're not so different, right?

*

He's hot when he crowds behind Sam at his apartment door, quiet but impatient as Sam, who hasn't brought anybody home in a while, shoves the wrong key in the lock. "Just a minute," Sam says, feeling Steve's breath at his neck.

Steve was discreet on the Mall, in the street, in the hallway, but as soon as the door's closed he's got his mouth on Sam's, his hands up under Sam's sweat-soaked t-shirt and stripping it off. Steve's thumbs smooth out over Sam's ribs as he takes in the sight of him and yeah, maybe Sam was getting a little self-conscious before but that's gone now, it's obvious from the look in Steve's eyes that he's fucking delighted with what he sees. 

It's not embarrassment spreading warmth up through Sam's chest, up over his cheeks. That's pride, that's excitement, that's oh baby I'm here for this.

"This way," says Sam, tugging them toward the bedroom and Steve reluctantly pauses, shuffles along after him as he tries to grope him at the same time. Sam laughs and tries to make a break for it, but he half trips over a footstool. Steve catches him and they kiss some more. In the bedroom Steve goes to his knees and Sam's starting to feel lightheaded, this is not where he thought this day was going. He gets a hand on the doorframe to steady himself, and Steve Rogers is licking his lips and peering up through thick lashes while Sam's other hand meets his and they're both shoving his shorts down and then, yeah, this is really happening, Steve's hand wrapping around Sam's already hard dick and the hot wet heat of his mouth closing over the head. 

"I –" Sam starts, and Steve barely moves as he pulls off, is still holding him, and Sam can feel the puff of breath when he says, 

"This okay?"

"Yeah," says Sam.

"'Cause I know I move fast but –" 

"'S'okay, I can keep up, just had to, uh, catch my breath."

Steve laughs softly for two seconds before he has his mouth on him again, and then Sam laughs too, the wild nervous energy shaking his belly as Steve starts stroking his dick. Steve's grip is firm because of course it fucking is, as Sam grips the doorframe and fights to stay on his feet. Steve sucks and the pressure is perfect because Steve's mouth is perfect because Steve is perfect. "I'm not gonna" _last long like this_ , Sam meant to say, but there's not even time for that, "I'm gonna," and Steve pulls off again but keeps stroking, and watches Sam smugly as he trembles and comes and refuses to fall. 

"I got you," says Steve, who's somehow back on his feet after that, who's got his arms around Sam's back and is gently prying Sam's hand off the door, then kissing him dirty and deep. Steve pushes them back toward the bed and Sam falls easily when it hits the back of his legs. Steve's moving them, crawling on top of him, pushing against him, and Sam moves, happy, sluggish, not really trying to keep up but he doesn't need to, he kisses back, he pushes back, he grins back when Steve grins down at him. It's all happening, and Sam's still capable of responding, of reaching into Steve's underwear and grabbing his dick, but it's also like it's already happened, somehow, like he's already seen what Steve's face does when he comes, 'cause he knows what to do, he knows this is working, this is right, this is good. 

And it goes like he saw it, like it should, plenty of joy but no surprises, really. Until after it's done, and Steve's out like a light in the middle of Sam's bed. Sam stares for a minute but Steve doesn't even stir, and Sam stares for another minute and then hauls himself to the bathroom.

Steve still doesn't move when Sam's cleaning him up, but when Sam lies down next to him (because what else is he gonna do with his afternoon) Steve turns toward him and, without opening his eyes, snuggles up close. 

The dude is radiating heat.

"Okay," Sam laughs, "this could take some getting used to." It's not exactly comfortable, but it's not a hardship either. He wishes he could adjust the air conditioning from here. Maybe he can remember to turn it up next time Steve's coming over. 

Sam lays an arm over Steve's side and rests, and doesn't sleep. He really hopes there's a next time Steve's coming over.

*

The next time Steve comes over it's planned (okay, fretted and fantasized about for hours, if Sam's being honest), not nearly so frantic now that they both know what they're about. Sam's cooked dinner and Steve's brought a bottle of wine and they're wearing actual clothes. They talk and eat like the nervous, civilized people they are. They don't even start sweating until later. 

And Steve doesn't so much pass out after he comes this time as settle in, moving his hands slowly over Sam's arms and his back and his ass, like he's getting to know his new place.

"You want to stay over?" Sam asks, and Steve just hums, comfortable, and pulls the bedsheet up over the both of them. 

"Really?" says Sam, who's used to sleeping on top of the sheets in the summer. He did turn up the AC earlier, but under the sheet he's trapped in Steve's heat and it's, "kinda close in here."

"That's the way I like it," Steve murmurs. When he wraps an arm around Sam he can't help thinking of wrestling. No one should be that strong when they're this tired. Steve holds Sam close and kisses him, and his muscles and his heat are everywhere. It's awesome, overwhelming. Sam could cry. (He doesn't.)

He doesn't sleep. (Steve does.)

Eventually Sam extricates himself from Steve's hold, gets up and washes the dishes. "It's getting stronger and stronger," he sings softly to himself, thinking yeah, this is new, but he _could_ get used to a life like this, to sharing space with someone. When he comes back to bed Steve's got the sheets twisted up around him, stretched tight and out of whack, with no real space for Sam to get close again. He lies down on the other side of the bed, under the vent, lets the cool stale air steal over his skin, and breathes.

*

Steve moves in in September, letting the lease on his own boring-ass apartment lapse. (Sam always thought that place was kind of creepy, hadn't stayed over more than a handful of nights.) 

Steve hasn't accumulated a lot of possessions in the few years he's been back, doesn't have strong feelings about how a place should be decorated, since everything's so different from what he's used to anyway. 

Sam makes room in the closet for a bunch of nearly identical shirts and slacks and shorts. He gifts his boyfriend with showy patterned socks and shirts. He treasures Steve's surprised, genuine smile.

He takes his second-favorite armchair and the footstool he used to trip over to the thrift store. After making sure he's got digital access to every song he _or_ Steve could need, he takes his record collection and turntable to his sister's house for safe keeping. Now there's room in the living room for an extra desk, some files and a computer. 

There's room in the bed, he tells himself, no more trips to the store needed. The satisfaction of being with Steve definitely makes up for missing out on a little sleep.

They work out together at the gym down the street. By now Sam's already used to having someone around who's faster and stronger, and he's starting to like the way it throws everybody else off. How they're impressed, quietly envious, but also pleased that Steve's chosen to be here with them. And how people he's known for years look at Sam differently now, knowing they're together. 

*

The heat of summer fades but the heat of Steve's body is constant. He's the most conscientious team member, most generous lover, and the greediest blanket hog Sam has ever known. At night they both sweat as they move together, and sweat some more as a sleeping Steve squeezes Sam tight under the blankets. By morning Steve's still sweating while Sam shivers on his empty side of the bed. 

"You can't possibly be cold," Sam grumbles, tugging back at the blankets, but it's useless. Steve's grip is like steel even when he doesn't know he's holding anything at all. 

Piling on more layers just results in a thicker and more elaborate tangle around him.

"You know, for a model soldier, you're kind of a slob," Sam says one morning as he's making the bed, letting a little bit of annoyance slip into his voice. He hasn't slept well.

Steve shrugs apologetically. "There's not much I can do to change my behavior when I'm not conscious..." Sam knows this but keeps glaring at him anyway. "And I guess it wasn't one of Erskine's top priorities, making sure whoever slept with me was comfortable."

Sam has to chuckle at that, and Steve grins at him, pulling him back into bed on top of the newly tucked blankets. 

"Have you always been like this? Your sleep didn't change at all?" He knows Steve's character has always been what it is, it was his body that changed. He isn't sure where stealing the blankets fits in.

Steve thinks for a minute, holding Sam and gazing at the ceiling before he says, "I had pretty bad circulation when I was a kid. Used to get real cold at night, and my ma said I used to cling to her, before I started sleeping on my own. And I –– you know I'd get sick a lot, respiratory infections, that kind of thing. Used to keep me from sleeping through the night."

"Right," says Sam, feeling vaguely guilty but reminding himself he wasn't alive back then. It's a familiar pattern at this point.

"So that changed," says Steve. "Ever since the serum, I fall asleep easy and sleep like a baby, unless there's some reason to get up."

"But you never got rid of the habits that started when you were a kid."

"Wasn't any reason to," Steve says, and then adds, "I guess there is now."

*

Habits don't change quickly, or completely. But the effort's sort of adorable, and sort of breathtaking, when Sam's not too sleep-deprived to appreciate it. He feels bad the first couple times he wakes Steve up to steal back a blanket or three. But it turns out Steve meant it about falling asleep easily, and he doesn't mind if he has to do it more than once in a night. 

He also doesn't mind staying awake a while longer. "Can't sleep?" he'll say when Sam nudges him, letting go of the blankets and tugging at Sam's hips. Dude goes from zero to sixty, but Sam can keep up. He likes the way Steve knows how to wring him out, sometimes so thoroughly that Sam finds a whole new kind of tired, and falls asleep before Steve can. 

Not everything syncs up but not everything needs to. In the end they do make room in the apartment for a bigger bed, room in their weekly routine for an extra load of laundry, room in their morning for time to wake up together.

It's January in DC and Sam's in no hurry to get out of bed. It's warm here.


End file.
